For to have faith is to have wings
“Miss Annabelle...?” She snatched abruptly from her daydreams and took a deep breath when she saw who had called her.
“Oh, Simone, so nice to see you.” Annabelle shook her head, making her curls dance wildly in the wind, presumably in an attempt to chase the last pieces of her dreams out of her head.
“I'm sorry to bother you,” Simone said and courtesied. Simone was Annabelle’s very own maid, but also her best friend. She was beautiful, Simone, with her dark, french looks, but not in the same way as Annabelle. With her black, long, wavy hair, which was now carelessly braided, and her raven-black, bottomless eyes, Simone was more elegant, but in a childish way. French blood ran deep in her veins, and her english bore an accent that Annabelle often envied.
“I was just wondering if you had heard from Mr. O’Malley since last night’s dinner party?” Annabelle smiled a seductive, playful smile when John’s name was mentioned. “Miss Annabelle?” Simone waited eagerly for an answer.
“No, he disappeared so quickly, and I never found out where.” Annabelle’s eyes had a hint of disappointment in them.
“I figured that since you two seemed to enjoy each other’s company, he might... I don't know, he just seems so...” Simone searched for the right word, but couldn't find it.
“Mysterious.” Annabelle said, finishing her friend’s sentence. “And you know how I feel about mysterious men, do you not, Simone?” Annabelle always fell for bad men, Simone thought, for there was something about them that made her heart catch on fire and burn all too recklessly. It was one of Annabelle’s more negative personality traits; at least if you asked Simone. But she said nothing, as she was afraid that Annabelle wouldn't agree. And the last thing Simone wanted, was to get Annabelle in a bad mood. That was never pretty.
“Oh, yes”, she said instead, “you have a thing for mysterious men, miss.” Annabelle laughed, but then, suddenly, her face turned serious. Her eyes gazed into Simone’s heart, into her soul, with such an intensity that it was emotionally draining. Annabelle had that kind of force surrounding her, like an energy field, and sometimes it was as if the air around her became static; charged. Simone used to describe her as a lightning, just before it struck earth.
“I have to have him, Simone, I must! If I don't have him, I don't know what I will do. Promise me, Simone, you have to promise me!” Annabelle snatched hold of the arm of Simone’s blood red dress, a dress that once had been hers.
“What, Miss? Promise you what?” Simone tried to sound innocent, and let her gaze travel from Annabelle’s menacing eyes to her hard grip on the dress. Annabelle looked up at her through a pair of jet-black lashes.
“Promise me that you will do everything to help me have him.” Simone smiled a beautiful smile that not even Annabelle could see through. Just as she had suspected.
“I promise, Miss. You know that.” Then Annabelle laid her hands on top of Simone’s.
“Croquet?” She asked, raising her right eyebrow in a seductive, almost childish way. Simone replied to her with another smile that made the dimples in her cheeks visible.
“This time I'll win!”